


Alive

by FactoryKat



Series: The Mages' Champion and the Healer's Hope - The Wyatt Hawke Collection [9]
Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Ass-Kicking, Blood and Violence, Custom Male Hawke (Dragon Age), Light Angst, Mage Hawke (Dragon Age), Purple Hawke, Purple-Red Hawke (Dragon Age), Red Hawke (Dragon Age), Templars (Dragon Age)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-11
Updated: 2019-04-11
Packaged: 2020-01-11 20:03:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18431111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FactoryKat/pseuds/FactoryKat
Summary: Hawke is still grieving, reeling over his mother's murder. It's a struggle. While at the bar with his friends, trying to distract himself, he ends up picking a fight.





	Alive

**Author's Note:**

> Another prompt based drabble. This one is the lead in to "Mending".

**Prompt:**  “I just want to feel alive again. Just for a little while.”

 

Bronze fingers twitched, a leg shifted and shoulders hunched forward. The ambience within the Hanged Man was white noise to Wyatt. It was a distinct keening piercing his thoughts all consuming, drowning out even the voices of his companions as they cackled and guffawed, staging bets and engaging in light conversation. The metallic clink of coins drew his eyes to the growing pile in the center of the table, a glittering hoard fit for any dragon but Hawke’s heavy gaze continued past the gilded mound. Clear blue eyes, darkened by grief, darted this way and that as if deep dreaming in the waking world. 

_ I could have done something. Should have spent more time with her. If I hadn’t been so far up my own Maker-damned ass I could have seen it coming.  _

_ This wasn’t supposed to happen.  _

_ This city is poison. Infected. Cursed.  _

_ Damn it all. _

Disquiet in his mind and turmoil curling itself around his heart etched a miserable frown on his tanned face and pulled his tawny brows low as they knitted together in further evidence of his inner struggle.    
  
“Hawke?” Varric’s voice registered vaguely on the surface of his consciousness, but escaped acknowledgement. He ignored it, ignored the elf’s questioning glances, ignored Aveline’s cautious hand on his shoulder. 

Glassy, ghoulish eyes haunted him, invaded his memories and plagued his dreams. Nausea crashed over him like a wave and fury simmered in his gut like glowing cinders. A single spark, that’s all it would take to stoke the flames. The acrid taste of bile crept up the back of his throat, his scowl deepened and Hawke clutched the cards in his hands tight enough to bend them. 

“Listen Hawke, you’re starting to give Broody there a run for his coin and-” 

The screech of wood on wood stopped him short as Hawke stood up, the legs of the heavy chair scraping against the floor of the upper level suite. “I need some air.” The cards were tossed to the table with little regard for where they landed as he stormed down the stairs into the main room of the tavern. Hawke paid no mind to the concerned protests of his companions, nor Aveline’s heavy steps behind him. His long stride carried him briskly past busy tables and mingling patrons. Edwina flitted from table to table, balancing several mugs and narrowly escaping a potential collision with the troubled mage.

In the whirlwind of voices within the tavern, few stuck out, like brilliant shining beacons. Hawke slowed his gait and craned his neck to sweep across the length of the bar. He sucked in a sharp breath between clenched teeth and let his gaze settle on a gaggle of skirted cowards. The Templars frequented the Hanged Man almost as often as they found themselves in the Blooming Rose so their presence wasn’t unusual. Seeing them though, their faces bare and visible, wracked with inebriated laughter and jeers as they quipped and teased, the banter amongst them rising above the cacophony of other voices so Hawke had no choice but to listen. He heard them. He heard every word, flagrant abuses spat in disgust over their charges, mages, innocents trapped beneath their bootheels. His hand twitched again while his body stood stock still, just listening while they prattled on completely unaware. One of them cast their eyes towards him briefly, and Hawke found his motivation, whether warranted or not. The templar’s face went through a cycle of emotions as Wyatt stalked over with a tightly leashed fury. Hands found purchase on the straps and buckles, dangling from the leather harness affixed to the templar breastplate and jerked him forward.

“WOAH-” came the man’s sudden cry as he found his back aggressively hitting the wall. “You! Ferelden  _ dog _ -” 

“Shut up.” Flames licked at his fingers as Hawke drew one hand back threateningly. “You want to pick a fight with a mage? Try it with someone who can fight back!”    
  
“Oh shit-”

“Hey!” Another shout from behind drew his interest and a gauntleted hand gripped his shoulder. Hawke turned abruptly, right into a swing backed by muscle and steel. The fist connected squarely with his jaw, cutting across his chin and leaving behind a red smear. A distinct wrongness crawled across his senses, his skin prickled and the hairs along the back of his neck stood at attention. Like snuffing out a candle, the flames rolling in his palm dispersed. 

_ Bastards! _ Hawke’s mind reeled as he felt it - a stifling force settling over him - like someone throwing a heavy woolen blanket on his head. He knew it was the templars. Someone had cast dispel, temporarily robbing him of mana. That was just fine. He wasn’t helpless without magic, his father had seen to that much growing up. With quick reaction time, he ducked low and body-checked his assailant. The templar’s state of drunkenness meant his balance was poor and made it easy for Hawke to send him stumbling backward into two of his fellow men. His back was exposed, unfortunately, meaning the blonde-haired templar behind him now felt brave enough to strike. 

“HAWKE!” Aveline’s voice cut through the chaos, momentarily pulling him out of his rage induced stupor. “ _ Shit _ .” She cursed, just as Hawke whipped his head up amidst the brawl. She likely hadn’t meant to distract him, but it cost him focus long enough for a third templar’s blade to kiss the skin along his bare forearm just as he turned his body and right into the swing of another. The awkward angle was blessing enough that he didn’t get immediately skewered by tempered steel and instead felt the sting of the blade just narrowly miss his eye, cutting from cheek through brow. HIs right hand was already clutching at his own weapon, a small blade tucked away in his leathers when it wasn’t wise or necessary to carry his staff. Blood seeped from the wound, forcing his eye shut and severely hindering his depth. 

“That's enough Hawke!” And it was fortunate timing that Aveline stepped in, grabbing him roughly and jerking him away from the group of templars who outnumbered the fuming mage five to one. 

“What in maker’s name was that about!?” She grilled him, her voice hard, cross, while her face was set in a concerned frown. Both of her roles, that as a friend and as the Captain of the Guard had her conflicted and it was plain as day by her actions as well as her expression. Mood further soured, Wyatt snorted. “Nothing.” He touched a hand to his face and winced. “You didn’t have to interfere.”   
  
“Didn’t I?” Her voice raised an octave, “And let you get your ass thoroughly stomped by those templars? Hawke, you’re not that stupid, nor am I. What’s going on?”

_ I just want to feel alive again. Just for a little while.  _   
  
When he pulled his fingers away covered in scarlet, Aveline’s face softened. “Let’s go. You need to get those wounds taken care of.” She reached to inspect his arm, but he pulled away, grumbling. “No. I don’t want to burden Anders. He already has enough to deal with and other patients more important. I’ll be fine.”

“You’re going and that’s final. I will not have you bleed out here in some seedy bar. Not on my watch Maker damn you.” Aveline took initiative as she wrangled Hawke out the door, playing deaf to his protests all the while.


End file.
